شبی با عروسک زنده 2 فصل 10

Night of the Living Dummy 2 - Chapter 10

Sara and Mom both turned accusing eyes on me.

“How could you?” Sara screamed, walking around the big paint puddle. “How could you?” “Whoa! Wait! I didn’t! I didn’t!” I cried frantically.

“I asked Amy why she was going in here,” Jed chimed in. “And she said it was none of my business.” “Amy!” Mom cried. “I’m horrified. I’m truly horrified. This—this is sick!” “Yes, it’s sick,” Sara repeated, shaking her head. “All of my poster paint. All of it. What a mess. I know why you did it. It’s because you’re jealous of my perfect report card.” “But I didn’t do it!” I wailed. “I didn’t! I didn’t! I didn’t!” “Amy—no one else could have,” Mom replied. “If Jed didn’t do it, then—” “But I only came in here to borrow markers!”

I cried in a trembling voice. “That’s all. I needed markers.”

“Amy—” Mom started, pointing to the huge paint puddle.

“I’ll show you!” I cried. “I’ll show you what I borrowed.” I ran to my room. My hands were shaking as I scooped Sara’s markers off my desk. My heart pounded.

How could they accuse me of something so terrible? I asked myself.

Is that what everyone thinks of me? That I’m such a monster?

That I’m so jealous of my sister, I’d pour out all her paints and ruin her rug?

Do they really think I’m crazy?

I ran back to Sara’s room, carrying the markers in both hands. Jed sat on Sara’s bed, staring down at the thick red, blue, and yellow puddle.

Mom and Sara stood over it, gazing down and shaking their heads. Mom kept making clucking noises with her tongue. She kept pressing her hands against her cheeks.

“Here! See?” I cried. I shoved the markers toward them. “That’s why I came in here. I’m not lying!” Some of the markers fell out of my hands. I bent to pick them up.

“Amy, there were only three of us home this afternoon,” Mom said. She was trying to keep her voice low and calm. But she spoke through gritted teeth. “You, me, and Jed.” “I know—” I started.

Mom raised a hand to silence me. “I certainly didn’t do this horrible thing,” Mom continued. “And Jed says that he didn’t do it. So…” Her voice trailed off.

“Mom—I’m not a sicko!” I shrieked. “I’m not!”

“You’ll feel better if you confess,” Mom said. “Then we can talk about this calmly, and—” “But I didn’t do it!” I raged.

With a cry of anger, I flung the markers to the floor. Then I spun around, bolted from Sara’s room, and ran down the long hall to my room.

I slammed the door and threw myself facedown onto my bed. I started sobbing loudly. I don’t know how long I cried.

Finally, I stood up. My face was sopping wet, and my nose was running. I started to the dresser to get a tissue.

But something caught my eye.

Hadn’t I turned Slappy around so that his back was turned to me?

Now he was sitting facing me, staring up at me, his red-lipped grin wider than ever.

Did I turn him back around? Did I?

I didn’t remember.

And what did I see on Slappy’s shoes?

I wiped the tears from my eyes with the backs of my hands. Then I took a few steps toward the dummy, squinting hard at his big leather shoes.

What was that on his shoes?

Red and blue and yellow… paint?

Yes.

With a startled gasp, I grabbed both shoes by the heels and raised them close to my face.

Yes.

Drips of paint on Slappy’s shoes.

“Slappy—what is going on here?” I asked out loud. “What is going on?”